© Eric Feldman

When working as a freelance writer, there’s always the issue of balance. The issue between work and play, between home time and work time, between paying the gas bill and not paying the gas bill…

Working from home means that boundaries get blurred and I sometimes discover I’ve inadvertently worked a 12-hour day. Even when there’s no paying work available (which happens more often than I’d like!), there’s always EssentialWriters.com to focus on, or the art book I’m collaborating on, or the novel I’m mid-way through, or the many proposals to send out for the novel I’ve completed.

Oh, and then there are the endless pitching of ideas to magazines and websites, and short stories to write and enter for writing competitions or submit to literary mags, all of which takes time and effort, but in chunks so small that they’re akin to erosion. Before you know it, the entire day is gone and the cliff has collapsed.

But the finest balance to master is that with regards to the features that pay well, and the features with benefits. For example, in the past two weeks I’ve received two commissions, both of which pay but on vastly different scales.

One was on a subject I knew nothing about, which required lots of research and constant communication with specialists in Scandinavia. I knew I’d learn masses through writing it, and the pay was well over £200. I accepted the commission.

The second, however, paid well under £100, but was on a subject I knew well – pampering – and would involve research that included an afternoon at a spa being gently massaged into semi-consciousness. Mwahhh…

So half the money, but also half the effort plus a heavenly afternoon I would never have felt justified in paying for myself. I accepted that commission too.

It’s the same with travel writing. It’s a genre that very rarely pays well, but results in some fabulous trips to places I might never otherwise have seen.

So it’s always about balance and money is only a small part of the equation. Apart, of course, from the opinion of the gasman.

© Sandi Hanna

I’m beginning to realise how widely responses to pitches can vary according to the publication or website you’ve contacted.

This week I received one from a US publication that caught me by surprise, as they thanked me for sending them my feature idea, then said that due to the high number of articles they receive they don’t make commissions.

Instead they suggested I write up the feature ‘on spec’. Oh, and then they mentioned that it could take up to six months for them to let me know whether they liked it enough to publish it in the magazine.

Is this a normal way for magazines in America to treat freelance writers? I was just a little bit appalled. I’ve written my fair share of gratis features to gain experience or exposure, but now, as a professional, full-time, published journalist I thought the least I could expect was confirmation of whether a feature would be published before I devote my time and energy to writing it.

Would you expect a chef in a restaurant to cook you a steak on the off-chance you might want to eat it? Would you invite a plumber to fix your shower on the off-chance you might decide their handiwork was good enough to pay out for?

Rant over, I suppose some industries do work a bit like that. For example, novelists graft away for years over a manuscript that may or may not find its place on the bookstores shelf.

And receiving an email like this is at least recognition of the fact I got in touch. More often than not my emails slide out into hyperspace and disappear without trace.

I’ve never been the kind of girl who waits by the phone for a boy to call, but somehow that behaviour has become part of my professional life without me even registering the fact.

Sometimes I don’t even think about what I’m doing as I endlessly check my inbox, hoping for a reply to a glorious pitch only to find a mass of spam and irrelevant press releases instead.

Of course, it’s all worthwhile when the perfect pitch meets the perfect commission and we all live happily ever after.

© Warley Rossi

One of the most difficult things about being your own boss is that you have to be your own cheerleading squad, as no one else really knows what you do each day. I think most people think writers only pretend to write; really we’re busy too eating cornflakes and watching endless episodes of Lost.

Some days that may be true, but most of us are working as hard as anyone in an office, but without the benefit of a supportive boss. In fact, part of the job is to be our own supportive bosses, so here goes.

Things I have achieved this week:

Finally signed up to PayPal;

Made an appointment to have my hurty foot examined by physiotherapists - again (this was a bigger challenge than you might expect as I’ve been putting it off for weeks);

Cooked up a delicious Moroccan spiced fish dish, followed by apple flapjack pudding for my husband and parents (smiles and full bellies all round);

Secured four feature commissions;

Took several long walks in the sunshine;

Solved a problem I had with my novel (general lack of focus) by introducing a new, cantankerous character;

Came up with an idea for a new story.

And it’s only Tuesday! What a great morale-boosting exercise - I must do this more often.

© Crystal Leigh Shearin

I’m registered with a service called Expertsources.co.uk, which claims to be “the UK’s most popular site for journalists wanting to find Media Experts in any subject.”

The idea is that if you’re writing a freelance feature and need an expert to make some worthy, intelligent-sounding noises, you can find them on this site.

I suspect the doctors, accountants, lawyers and so on pay for the privilege of being listed here, and in order to make sure they get their money’s worth, the site bombards journos with emails listing a selection of experts.

Today’s missive included a listing for an expert in maternity wedding dresses. What a marvellous thing to be an expert in! I had to wonder, though, what kind of training do you need to become an expert in this field?

One of my friends is doing a PHd in European politics, and is therefore classed as an expert in that field. And I think it would be fair to call a qualified vet an expert in animal medicine, but what background do you need to have to be classified as an expert in maternity wedding dresses?

I’m so intrigued that I’m tempted to write a feature about pregnant brides just so that I have an excuse to contact the expert and find out more…